


MALFOY MANOR.

by slyther_sins



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Completed, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 07:49:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15814596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slyther_sins/pseuds/slyther_sins
Summary: A rewrite of the ‘Malfoy Manor’ chapter in, ‘Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows’ written by J.K. Rowling.( Rewrite idea gifted to me by @malfqy over on Tumblr )





	MALFOY MANOR.

**Author's Note:**

> based off of this incredible drarry headcanon/ficlet by @malfqy over on tumblr <33  
> \- https://malfqy.tumblr.com/post/177243282927/okay-but-like-think-about-if-drarry-was-a-thing
> 
> not only that, this is dedicated to her ( &despite seeing the story as it went under final editing, i still hope you enjoy, katherine. )

**“COME OUT OF THERE WITH YOUR HANDS UP!”** A rough voice called from outside the tent, into the darkness and people inside. All movement ceased upon hearing it, and a dreadful silence filled the air as all eyes turned onto the entrance of the tent: carefully watching as a steady ray of light attempted to pierce through the surrounding fabric, attempting to locate them. “We know you’re in there! You’ve got half a dozen wands pointing at you and we don’t care _who_ we curse!”

Harry gave a half inch turn at either of his side; looking at the outline of Hermione standing at his left, and of Ron and Draco at his right. He closed his eyes and drew in a breath, grasping at the space around himself before his fingers met the sleeve of a sweater; the magic from the hand underneath feeling familiar. Harry held it, angling his body in front of his boyfriend’s as a shield once the hand squeezed back; already sensing Draco’s panic rising from the shallow breathing against his neck.

 _“The name’s Taboo!”_ Ron’s voice from earlier echoed in Harry’s head, before the memory scene fell into the Sneakoscope lit and begun to spin; a loud crack sounding outside the tent. Harry shook his head as the memory shifted back over into their current situation.

 _This could’ve been avoided!_ Harry screamed at himself,  _We could’ve had more time._  

But there was nothing he could do about it now:

It was done.

The sound of leaves ruffling outside removed Harry from his thoughts. The shadows of the people outside began to encircle the tent tighter: it was clear they weren't leaving.

Out the corner of his eye, Harry was able to make out the movement of Hermione’s arm as she rose and extended it out; the tip of her wand aimed at the flap of the entrance of the tent - supposedly for the Snatchers surround them outside.  
But then, with a swift turn of her body, the wand was pointed at him and Harry dropped to the ground with a yell as a bang erupted out, and a bright, white light struck him square in the face.

His body curled in tightly as he met the ground, Harry’s own hands clawing at his face as a burning sensation broke through. _His eyes, he couldn't see anything!_ Heavy footfalls began to approach, and as foolish as it was, Harry set his mind on attempting to crawl away. But as he reached out, so did another pair of hands. And then another: All coming together to roughly drag him off the ground.

As he was brought into a standing position, his arms were pinned tightly behind his back, and Harry let out a groan at the excruciating painful position they were held in. His clothes were pulled and tugged on harshly as his pockets were rummaged through; the searching hands eventually finding the hawthorn wand hidden in an inner pocket.

A sudden jolt of pain ran through his face.  

Harry made another grab for it; the tight, swollen skin feeling unrecognizable underneath his fingers. His glasses tumbled off of his face as he was thrust out of the tent, still managing to catch - through the currents slits of his eyes - as blurred shapes dragged Hermione, Ron and Draco out as well.

“Get! Off! Her!” Ron shouted.

  
“No! Leave him alone, leave him alone!” Hermione’s scream followed after the unmistakable sound of knuckles pounding against flesh filled the air, and Ron grunted in pain.

“Better hope he’s not on my list then, girly. He’d been getting a lot worse than a few hits to the gut.”  Harry forced himself to calm down as he finally put a name to the familiar, rasping voice: Fenrir Greyback - a werewolf permitted to wear the Death Eater robes in exchange for his hired savagery. He continued to speak to Hermione, voice low as he went on with filthy and lewd comments of her appearance.

Harry felt Ron shake beside him, breathing uneven - and he knew him well enough to know that Ron was seconds away from blowing a fuse. Harry jabbed his friend’s ribs with his elbow: knowing that Greyback would see Ron, and wouldn’t hesitate to use this opportunity to have some fun of his own with Hermione.

  
“Search the tent!” A voice suddenly ordered. Harry was flung to the ground, landing face first. One thud, and a streak of red - Ron was down beside him. A second thud of a body - and with the previous magic of earlier reaching out to him - Draco followed after. Harry felt around in the grass and leaves, clasping a shaky hand around Draco’s wrist as the sound of chairs being pushed over, items being smashed, and the running footsteps continued behind them as the Catchers searched inside the tent.

  
“Now let’s see who we’ve got!” There was a gloating tone to Greyback’s voice as he spoke. Harry hissed as a foot was brought down on their hands, and the faint cracking of bones made him bite down on his bottom lip.

 _“Draco Malfoy.”_ Harry didn’t need to see to know the expression Greyback wore,  his voice held the smugness of a smirk. “I wonder what your dear old _Father_ will say about this betrayal. His son, so _pathetic_ that he ran off to the enemy for protection; clinging to his arm as if he were his only life source.” Greyback gave a cruel chuckle, “The Dark Lord will _surely_ have your guts for dinner.”

Harry heard Draco gasp not a moment later. Making out the scene the best he could, he saw Greyback had leaned close down into Draco’s face; causing him to breathe heavily as he stared up in fear - both at the close proximity, and the werewolf above.

Harry watched as Greyback ran a single, yellow nail down the side of his face: down the soft, milk-white flesh. Draco whimpered, hands burying themselves further into the ground below as he struggled to create further distance from him.

Harry immediately began to draw attention to himself: the idea to do so was sudden, and dangerous at that - but Harry didn’t care of what Greyback did to him, so long as Draco was left alone. He continued to sling his head from left to right, mumbling nonsense - his final bit of kicking dirt against Greyback’s leg being the final straw. Greyback’s head snapped over to him. “Want to join in on this, too, don’t you?

Harry was promptly rolled onto his side roughly as an arm pinned down his shoulder, a beam of light being produced before his face. A guttural laugh escaped from Greyback, his hot and rancid breath hitting against Harry’s nostrils; causing a lip to curl up in disgust. ‘I’ll be needing a butterbeer or two to wash down this sight. What happened to you, ugly?”

 _“Could ask you the same,”_ Harry muttered, referring not at all to his lycanthropy.

The under comment wasn’t taken to lightly, for Harry received a low blow to his stomach, making him double over in pain. “I said, what happened to you?”

“Stung,” Harry wheezed, clutching at his stomach, “Got stung.”

“Sure as hell looks like it too,” A voice nearby added with a chuckle.

Greyback crouched down beside him, taking a handful of hair in his grip. “What’s your name?”

“Dudley.”

“First name as _well._ ”

“Name’s Dudley. _Vernon_ Dudley.”

 He let Harry go with a shove, then stood; dusting off his trousers. “Should be easy to check. Scabior,” Greyback snapped his fingers, “Check for him on the list.” The leaves crunched as Greyback moved to Harry’s right, going for Ron. “And you, _ginger?_ ”

“Stan Shunpike.”

“Like ‘ell you are! ‘E’s been around our way, and you ain’t him!” A voice, Scabior's, if Harry had to guess, called out in reply before fists collided with flesh again.

Harry knew it was enough to make Ron bleed. His guess was confirmed true as Ron choked over his words, mouth sounding full as he managed out, “Bardy Weasley.”

“A Weasley?” Greyback chuckled, “The lot of you are blood-traitors.” Greyback gave a spat of phlegm near Ron’s head before he moved over to Hermione. “And you pretty little friend…?”

His voice made Harry’s flesh crawl, a shudder following after.

“I’m not going to bite just yet. Who are you, _girly?_ ”

Despite being terrified as the rest, Hermione’s response was the most convincing. “Penelope Clearwater.”

“Blood status?”

“H-Half blood.”

“The lot look to be still of ‘ogwarts age," Scabior commented.

“‘Ev Lebt.”

“Left, have you?" Greyback barked out. "Though it’d be funny to camp out and use the Dark Lord’s name for a good laugh-!”

“Aggiden,” Ron told him.

“An accident, eh?” Greyback came closer, “No. An ‘accident’ would be if I-”

A shout came from inside the tent. “Hey! Greyback, look at this!” A figure came bustling towards them, and after seeing a glint of silver - helped with by the light of their wands - Harry realized they had found the Gryffindor’s sword.

“It’s my father’s,” Harry said, “We borrow it to cut firewood-”

“Greyback, ‘ang on a minute!" Scabior's voice cut through, rushing forward with a paper in his hand, "There’s something in the _Prophet._ ”

Harry scar burned in silence, fragments of visions creeping through - but he forced himself to stay present where he sat tied to Ron, Hermione, and Draco; continuing to listen to Scabior and Greyback conversate.

_“‘ ‘Ermione Granger….Mudblood known to be traveling with ‘arry Potter.”_

Harry froze.

A stillness has settled over the scene as the Snatchers peered down at them. “Well, this changes things, doesn’t it?” Greyback remarked. His made his way over to Harry, pressing a filthy finger to the now-sensitive scar. “What’s this on your forehand, Vernon?”

“Don’t-!” Harry began, but Draco spoke over him.

“Earlier, we got into a disagreement and I lashed out at him.”

Greyback turned back to Draco, “With what, _exactly?_ ”

“A sharp rock, if I recall.” Draco nodded towards the tent, “I tossed it out somewhere a few feet away in case he bled out…”

Greyback scanned over their faces one last time, then said to his fellow Snatchers, “We’ll take the lot. If it’s them, _all_ of them - the rewards will pile up higher. And hand me the sword while you’re at it.” The prisoners were dragged to their feet, but struggled against it - their efforts hopeless. Harry could hear Hermione’s fast and terrified breathing in one ear, and Draco’s in his other - sounding of panicked hyperventilation. “Grab ahold and tight - I’ll get Potter!” Greyback’s long, yellow nails scratched Harry’s scalp as he seized a handful of his hair.

Their bodies lurched forward into each other’s as they Disapparated and appeared in a country lane. Harry could see Draco looking around frantically, tensing up upon seeing the pair of wrought-iron gates before him - at the foot of a long drive. Harry opened his mouth to question, to question of the fear within Draco's eyes when the gates boomed.

"State your purpose!" It requested as one of the Death Eaters strode forward and shook the gates.  At the mere mention of Harry being captured, the gates swung open: the prisoners being dragged up the drive - stumbling and staggering as he and the others were brought through high hedges that muffled their footsteps.

They were pushed over gravel, kicked and shoved up broad stone steps leading into a portrait filled hallway. _Malfoy Manor,_ Harry realized with a glance up at the white-blond men and women within the frames; smirks underneath their haughty expressions - dressed in deep and rich fabrics: the frames themselves made out of gold and silver,  names engraved in elegant cursive at the bottom.

  
Harry felt a hand clutch at the back of his neck, and they were forced to continue walking. "We've caught Harry Potter!" Greyback announced as they were brought into a large room, the sound of fire crackling echoing out. Another series of portraits lined the dark purple wall of this room, a crystal chandelier twinkling from the ceiling.

“So you say,” Came the drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy who sat at the ornate fireplace across the room, rising from his chair.

“How can you be so sure it’s Potter?” Narcissa questioned, voice cold as she, too, rose from her seat.

“ ‘E’s swollen, we know, but ma’am, it’s him!” Scabior piped up. “Look closer, you’ll see ‘is scar! See right ‘ere, this is the girl: the Mudblood who’s been traveling around with ‘im. We’ve got ‘is wand as well, ma’am, there’s no doubt it’s ‘im-”

Through puffy eyelids, Harry saw Scabior thrust the wand into Narcissa's hands. She rose her brows, then turned the wand over in her hand: examining it. She then looked down at Harry, eyes wandering over his face before she turned back to the wand. “I cannot be so sure it’s him.”

“Let me have a look at him.” Lucius approached Harry himself, so close to his face that Harry could see the languid, pale face in sharp detail despite his current disadvantage of eyesight. “What did you do to time?” Lucius asked, questioned directed at Greyback.

“Wasn’t us.”

Lucius squinted his eyes. “Looks like a Stinging Jinx to me.” A minute passed and his grey eyes raked over Harry’s forehead. “Something’s there,” Lucius whispered, voice full of excitement. “It could be the scar...stretched tightly across his face.” He stood once, moving towards his wife, “If we are the ones who hand over to the Dark Lord, all will be forgiv-”

“I hope you haven’t forgotten who actually caught him, Mr. Malfoy?”

Lucius waved an impatient hand at Greyback, “Of course not!”

“Now, we had better be certain, Lucius,” Narcissa told her husband, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Completely certain before we summon the Dark Lord. If we are mistaken,” She narrowed her eyes at him, lowering her voice, “Have you forgotten what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?”

“What about the Mudblood, then?” The Snatchers forced the prisoners to swivel around yet again, the light falling onto Hermione.

"Yes, yes. This is _her!"_ Lucius exclaimed. _"_ And he, he must be Potter. Even the Weasley is here with them." Harry could see the excitement written all over the man's face: he practically danced in glee. "That Dark Lord will be pleased! Had Draco come home for the Easter holidays, we would've determined their identities quicker, but it is them. It is Potter!"

“Speakin' of which, that’s not all of a surprise we have for you, Lucius.”

Greyback stood sidestepped the bound prisoners to reveal Draco knelt amongst them as he on the ground, head hung low as attention was sprung onto him. Even with his face covered in slick filth and grime, signature white-blond hair dirtied into a light brown, the Malfoys recognized their son. Narcissa, with her fond memories of watching him grow up - spending every possible second around him.

And Lucius, with their only child looking almost like a younger, but complete duplicate of himself.

Lucius blinked at Greyback, trying to determine if this was a joke. But a grin spread over Greyback’s face, becoming into a laugh as Draco began to tremble; convulsing as he struggled to breathe without a stuffiness to entering his nose, and a burning sensation crossing over his eyes.

“It’s not... him.”

The words came not from Lucius but from Draco.

Greyback whipped around. “Then who be it, boy?”

Draco’s eyes dropped into his lap, his voice quiet. “I-I...I don’t know, exactly, but it’s not Potter.”

“Explain why Granger and Weasley are here, then?” A female Death Eater questioned, stepping forward with a hand on her hip - her voice heavily resembling Bellatrix's.

“They suspected I was off to do wrong, found me walking down the corridors.” He shook his head, his already hoarse voice becoming worse the longer he talked. “I insisted that I was not, only wanting to head off to the Library, but they ran after me. I panicked and traveled to Hogsmeade to lose them. When I looked back...they were still following so I apparated away - they must've joined alongside. I-”

Draco’s words died on his lips as all eyes, his own included,  turned onto Harry.

Harry’s face, once large, shiny, and pink - distorted by Hermione’s jinx - had restored to normal.

And it did not go unnoticed.

Everyone within the room looked at him: His friends, of fear; the Death Eaters in joy to turn him over to their Lord; and then of Narcissa Malfoy…who looked quite the opposite of her husband - her expression of surprise and of deep thought.  
  
Harry looked over at Draco, finally catching sight of the circular glasses Draco attempted to hide in the clutches of his hand, behind his back.

_“Draco.”_

Draco closed his eyes as the warning tone he knew all too well from his Father met his ear. His body shook and he felt his eyes begin to prickle - but would not cry before him as he'd done several times in the past.

He would _not._  
  
Draco turned from Harry to his Father, growling out a rather fierce, _“Go to hell.”_

"How dare you speak to me that way!" Lucius' eyes widened, nostrils flaring as a dark expression looked over his face. 

  
Draco, as Harry did, knew of his fate before it was even uttered, for he turned back and gave Harry a sad smile: tears threatening to fall from both of their eyes.  
  
Narcissa watched the two, the tears she’d been holding since the beginning finally breaking out at the sound of her husband yelling at their son. The sob raked throughout her body, deep gulps of breath being necessary to properly breathe. Gathering herself up a bit, Narcissa wiped a few from her cheeks then looked around at the Death Eaters.  
  
She knew none of them would spare her son - moreover voting to have him killed before her very eyes, and with that, she came to a final decision: 

She would sacrifice her life for Draco’s.

There was no question about it.  
  
Narcissa wrung her hands together as she prepared to lay down her life, wanting her final memories to be of the fondest memories she had of he son: from birth, through childhood and even up until now. She didn’t care if her death was quick, or even if it was long and agonizing. Just so long as Draco was-  
  
_“Crucio!”_

A ball of red light flew out from behind Narcissa and hit Draco square in the chest. At first, there was a silence, and all was seen was Draco’s body as he collapsed to the floor. For a moment, a hope grew in Harry; that Draco had missed the spell - throwing up a defensive shield before slipping and falling back. But with a glance that would soon to be regretted, any hope that Harry had vanished right then and there.

The effect of the spell took a heavy number on Draco: his bright grey eyes had widened and were frozen in horror, mouth open and rigid as his face remained gaunt and immobile;  fists clenched into knuckles as nails dug deep into the palm of his hands.

His mother was the first to scream, the piercing sound full of hysteria and utter disbelief.

  
And then Draco’s own scream followed. It was the type that made one hold their breath;  taking a permanent place in the brain of whoever heard, and stopping time itself.

With a whirl around, Narcissa found that the caster was none other than her very own sister. She immediately drew her wand and a non-verbal spell towards Bellatrix, a rage trembling throughout her usually calm figure as the burst of light exploded out. It struck Bellatrix, and she gasped, stumbling back - not in surprise but of anger.  
  
“How dare you! Hex your own _sister-_!”  
  
“-How dare you turn your wand onto my son! Your own n _ephew_!” Narcissa hissed back in reply; a fierce grip on her wand as she prepared for a duel.  
  
Bellatrix took notice. “A fight is what you want? Then it shall be what you get!”  
  
The duel was one well fought, effortless twists of wrists being responsible for the explosions of sound and light that danced around the room - lethal if they were to hit any of the onlookers. Bellatrix cackled throughout all the while, determination burning bright in Narcissa’s eyes. But in the end, the reason for her fight was also her downfall: 

  
In the middle of conjuring up a spell, Draco’s scream of agony rang out within the room, and Narcissa had barely glanced up before a ball of light struck her as well.  
  
Draco, though in pain, made a grab for one of Bellatrix’s legs as he watched his  Mother hit the ground; tugging on it when it seemed she would not be getting up soon. Bellatrix stumbled, and when her eyes landed on him, she kicked Draco away - his head connecting it the ground once again. Her dress draped across the floor as she moved over and pinned him down, her body covering up any clear view of Draco; a terrible, drawn-out scream releasing out from him soon after.

She began to interrogate him of his whereabouts, of anything that could help her give further information and assistance to her Lord.

 _“Where have you been?!”_  
  
“ _None of your damn business, that’s where!”_ Draco retorted, voice shaking heavily before pain hit him again.  
  
“Y _ou’re being used! They’ll be through with you, and cast you aside in the end!”_  
  
_“Don’t think the same will happen to you too, Aunty Bella?”_  
  
_“You’re a fool for betraying the Dark Lord!”_  
  
_“And you’re a fool for joining him! Harry will be the one to win this, I bet my **life** on that!”_  
  
“That could be arranged,” Bellatrix snarled.  
  
From then on, every few minutes, they would hear Draco scream out; a moment would pass, then he would go quiet - panting before the process started yet again. It became raw to the point where his scream consisted of an endless pain: one only Harry himself caught a hint of himself.  
  
“You don’t deserve the bore the mark of the Dark Lord!” Bellatrix hissed suddenly. It was unknown of what she did, for her figure covered him up, but within seconds, Draco broke out into a wail, feet thrashing wildly against the floor; his nails dragging and squealing against the polished wood beside him.  
  
“STOP IT! STOP HURTING HIM! PLEASE…” Hermione’s voice had gone shrill in the midst of her own screaming, words stumbling over another as she plead pitifully. She dropped her head, tears rolling off of her cheeks.  
  
In the past, had she ever been asked if she would cry over Draco in pain, there answered would’ve been an immediate no - but something changed within the past year, they became friends, and a mere cry out of Draco would’ve brought her to tears. And here he was: Being tortured before her very eyes.  
  
Ron’s shoes began to scuffle against the floor beside her, the binds of the magically charmed ropes around stinging the wrists of his arms as he struggled to get free.  
  
He never told the others, but he was friends with Malfoy. He didn’t expect it to happen, but neither did he expect a single teardrop to break loose as another scream broke out of Draco. The sudden trickle of blood running down onto the wooden floor before their feet made his body run cold.  
  
Hermione and Harry jostled violently on either side as Ron struggled even harder - wanting to do something, anything to make the heart-wrenching screams stop.  
  
Harry remained expressionless beside him: he sat still, not so much as a word escaping. He then took a breath and closed his eyes; the scream continuing to echo out around him. He sat there for a good minute: inhaling and exhaling, the distant visions of Voldemort’s perspective playing in and out of his mind.  
  
Harry forced himself to concentrate, slowly separating himself from reality.

  
Within seconds, Harry could feel his magic begin to awaken inside him. His muscles tensed, there was a twitch to his right eye, and his heartbeat quicked - thumping madly in his chest. The intensity of all it all was enough to make him shake, first subtly then violently.  
  
Hungry for destruction, his magic churned within; burning as hot as lava. Harry felt a heat gather in his throat, spreading down his chest and into his fingertips.

  
If he let his anger get the best of himself, Harry knew, things would not end well.  
  
But with an inhuman roar of a yell, Harry let his magic escape anyway; consequences be _**damned.**_  
  
It reverberated off of the walls like a clap of thunder, the room shaking violently as the waves of magic rolled off it in high surges. This was his rage, the sound itself resembling the wail of a fierce storm within the sky. A heavy vibration thrummed throughout the room and within the blink of an eye, the chandelier burst into a million pieces; the shards of the broken windows coming alongside to decor the chaotic air in shades of white and blood as it seized victims below:  
  
The Death Eaters.  
  
Harry’s eyes never left them as he watched his wandless magic continue its vicious attack: a continuous thud pounding throughout the room as bodies floated up one by one into the air, singing like a song of vengeance.  
  
The Death Eaters rose up higher and higher, and a sudden trip back flung them into the wall behind; heads connecting with it before they fell to the ground, unconscious.  
  
It only stopped when Harry began to spot black.  
  
He quickly withdrew himself out of his rage and absorbed his magic back in, panting heavily. Mentally, it relieved him, but physically, it left him weak. He focused on nothing but the pile of the link bodies across the room as he caught his breath; recovering.  
  
It was the only sound within the room.  
  
Looking up, Harry saw Ron, Hermione, and Narcissa looking down at him with widened eyes, unable to process the scene that happened before their very eyes. Thankfully, they were not injured by his bought of destruction, but their faces made it seem like they were the only remaining survivors of it all.  
  
_“Harry…”_ His eyes moved past them to Draco’s crumpled figure, eyes directed up a the ceiling, but his body lying motionless. _“Harry…”_  
  
Harry scrambled over to him and felt his heart drop at the sight of Draco. The only sign of him still being alive was the low rise and fall of his chest and the slight curl of his fingers as he wrapped them around Harry’s own. _They were slippery,_ Harry noticed, and glancing down at Draco’s forearm, he saw why: the area that once bared the Dark Mark now bore several deep and jagged cuts, blood dripping into the palm of his hands and between his fingers onto the floor.

  
Harry looked away for a moment, and took a breath: he didn’t trust himself to stop with the Death Eaters at just a storm of chaotic magic.  
  
The tail of another black dress flew before Harry’s eyes, and then Narcissa was kneeling down on the other side of Draco. “Draco, love. Get up! _Please,_ ” Her voice broke heavily, “I need you to get up. Please still be alive. I _can’t_ lose you...”  
  
Her curtain of hair flew over her shoulder as she turned towards the doorway, “Bibsy! Lodpey! Gather the others!” She cried out, the family’s house elves beginning to appear at her call. “Fetch soup and water from the kitchen! And hurry!”

  
Narcissa turned back to Draco as the left out, hands shaking violently as she took his face in her hands; her tears dropping onto the sleeves of his shirt.  
  
Harry made his way closer to them, taking Draco’s frail body into his arms as he cradled him close. He stroked a hand over Draco’s hair, watching his blond eyelashes flutter then close again.  
 “I don’t know how long they’ll be asleep,” Harry croaked out as he rose his head, voice brittle, “And we can’t risk them calling Voldemort here.”  
  
Narcissa caught onto what he was saying. She gave him a look of disbelief, scoffing, ”You can’t take my son away from me! Not after….not after this.”

  
”Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione began, “We’ll take containers of soup and water for him, and I promise - he’ll get the rest he needs, but Harry’s right,” Hermione met her eyes, “We need to go.”

  
Narcissa gazed around the room at them, face hard. She took in a deep breath, lips pinched together, “Take care of my son.”

“We wi-”

  
“I want your word, Harry Potter!”

  
Harry flinched but quickly recovered. “I haven’t time to cast the charm, but you have my words. If I don’t keep it, you have full permission to kill me, but promise me that HE never wins.”

Harry met her eye and a silent agreement was made. He nodded, then over at the wall across from them. “You’re the only one not injured…” He said, “You’ll need to pretend you were knocked out as well. For your safety, that is.”

“There should be a glamour charm for that.” Narcissa hesitated to stand, reaching over and pressing a gentle kiss into the palm of Draco’s hand, and then one over his forehead - running her hand against his temple before getting to her feet.

  
Narcissa paused halfway of her walk. . “There’s another,” She tells them over her shoulder, “Another one of you. Down in the dungeon is where she is, and has been there for quite a while.”

  
“Who is she?” Ron asked, stepping forward, “How does she look?”

  
“Ashy-blond hair, big, bright blue eyes, and is a bit odd.”

  
“Luna.” Harry finished, giving a look to Ron and Hermione, “It has to be Luna.”

  
Hermione looked over at Harry, “We have to get her as well.”

  
“Of course we do. There isn’t a doubt about that.” Harry said. “I-” He gave a glance down at Draco in his arms, the action speaking for itself.

  
“I’ll watch him until you two get back,” Hermione answers for him. Carefully shifting him over into her arms, Harry and Ron broke into a run for the dungeons; nearing slipping and breaking their necks and they traveled into a dark passageway, down along a steep flight of cobblestone steps.

  
Ron whipped out his wand and gave a tap at the door, “Luna!” Harry called out with a wheeze as he ran inside the dank and musty room, still out of breath. “Luna, are you in here?”

There was a click beside him, and Ron had flicked on the Deluminator; moving it back and forth so that spheres of light dashed out into the corners of the cellar to light it up.

  
“Harry? Ron? Luna appeared before the back of the counter, able to walk, unlike her fellow prisoners who either remained slumped against the wall, or bound in a standing position against the wall by thick ropes. She appeared well at first sight, but further expression revealed that she, like the rest, had been through some things in the recent times.

”Yes, yes, it’s us but come on!” Harry rushed, “We haven’t much time before he arrives.”

  
“But Harry, there are others-”

  
“We can come back for them later. O-or Mrs. Malfoy can help them escape. Something. But Luna, we _have_ to go.”

  
Luna, without a doubt, heard the urgency in his voice; and could sense the severity of their current situation. “Where will be Apparate to?” She asked, taking a different stance; appearing the same, only with a bit more confidence.

  
“I, uh….” Harry raked his mind, then answered with, “Bill and Fleur’s. Shell Cottage.” He gave a glance at Ron, who nodded in return, “We’ll be better off there.”

  
With Ron leading the way, they made it back up the passageway and corridor within the few minutes; entirely out of breath as the re-entered the drawing room.

  
A line of house elves followed into the room after, placing their handfuls of cans and water bottles at the feet of Narcissa.

  
“Thank you,” Hermione breathed, passing over Draco to Harry before crouching down and stuffing everything in as quickly as she could into the extension-charmed bag. Zipping it up, she slung it over her shoulder and crossed the room to where the group stood. She took a place at the end of them, beside Ron.

  
With everyone else in place, Harry began to prepare Draco for the trip.  Hooking either arm under a pit, Harry let out a grunt as he hauled him up- purposely guiding Draco’s weight onto himself.

He then snaked an arm around his waist, Draco’s head lolling against his chest. If he couldn’t hold himself up, then Harry would have to.

  
“Are well set?” He asked the group, “Yes? Good.”

Harry looked over to Narcissa, slumped on the ground against her husband: the glamour she cast onto herself looking realistic - blood trailing out of her nose, with scraps lined up against her arms, the illusion of a glass shard in her arm. She’d flung her head back to give the appearance that she was hit in her face.

 It was a good job indeed.  
  
Harry give a final glance around the room. The sight left behind was a gruesome one, to say the least: fragments of crystal, glass, and chains lay strewn on the now-dull wooden floor, black curtains billowing in and out of the destroyed window, occasionally getting caught in the glass shards that remained in the pane.

  
The only true haunting piece of the scene was the peeling knife dug into an odd angle on the floor, thin layers of pale, white skin sitting against the blade; a steady trail of blood drying up against the length - leading to a trickling pool of rusty-crimson around it.

  
Harry then spun on the spot: blurs of color flying wildly before his eyes until they were all thrown into darkness. _Shell Cottage._ Harry repeated Bill and Fleur’s location over and over in his head, attempting to ignore the piercing pain of his head - holding onto the bodies around him tighter.

The group was pulled further into the unknown, twisting and turning from left and right; the doubt of a good ending coming from this increasing with every second that passed. And then- 

  
They were greeted with the salty air of Shell Cottage.


End file.
